


Proud, Beautiful and Strong

by Philosophie88



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves galore, F/M, Gen, Oh My God, Pre-Hobbit, Staring Thranduil's Pet Moose, True Love, Unrequited Love, Watch out for bunnies and elk, You are welcome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-11 10:35:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophie88/pseuds/Philosophie88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil-galad's daughter remains in Middle Earth after the Last Alliance. She finds love, friendship and family in the most unexpected of places. Starts pre-Hobbit, then through the events of the Hobbit and LOTR. A look at Legolas' mother–the elleth behind the walker of the Fellowship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Suitor

**Prologue - Imladris Beginning of the Third Age of Middle Earth**

Pain–a numb pain–an empty hollowness filled her soul. Her slender fingers lay upon her lap, hands folded one onto the other; her back was rigid as she sat in her ebony chair, eyes blank, staring out the window to the east, hopeless, waiting for one who would not return.

The door behind her creaked open, but still the  _elleth_  did not turn from her desolate trance.

" _Naneth_ … " came the whispered voice of a young  _elleth_. " _Naneth_ , you must eat... please  _Naneth_ … "

She shook herself from her stupor and turned slowly to face her child, her eyes devoid of any emotion save deep sorrow.

"What is the point? He is gone. The enemy is defeated but he is gone."

"We knew this to be a possibility," replied the younger one, as she crossed the room to set a tray upon a small side table and knelt before her mother. "In your heart you must have prepared yourself for father to not return." She took her frail hands in her own. They shook slightly, and her mother sighed softly. " _Nana_ … "

"Little star, my dear little star, I had hoped against hope... but it was in vain. I had hoped for the shadow to be defeated, your father to return and to see you married with elflings of your own," the elder  _elleth_ smiled slightly. "He would have loved grandchildren, spoiled them greatly. But alas, Sauron destroyed more than a life that day, he destroyed a future."

"Nay,  _N_ _aneth_ , say not so.  _Ada_  would have wanted us to continue on to be happy. I will marry one day and you will live to see your grandchildren; you cannot fade… you cannot… " her voice broke as she uttered these last words.

Her mother looked down on her daughter then, unsure of what comfort she could offer her amidst her own grief. Gently she caressed her daughter's beautiful face as she had often done when she was a small elfling.

"Oh little star, I will not fade, but I am not whole any longer, and I cannot tarry on these shores. Only if you too come west will I see the grandchildren I desire; but I do not think that to be... Lord Glorfindel still remains in Middle Earth."

In spite of her tears, the young  _elleth_  snorted. "He will remain quite lonely in Middle Earth if he does not cease his suit."

"Perhaps your heart will change, for he is an honorable  _ellon_."

"But I do not love him... not like you love  _Ada_ ," She added quietly. "If I loved someone, I want to love them like you love  _Ada_."

"And you shall, but I still do not believe your time to sail has come."

Her daughter sighed. "Nay, It has not. I shall remain with Elrond. I will miss you,  _Naneth_ … "

She laid her head in her mother's lap for a few passing moments, and mother and daughter remained in the tender embrace for a while as the elder stroked her daughter's raven tresses. Then the younger one sat up and gestured to the tray she had brought in. "You must eat though; you must have nourishment for your journey West. The high Queen of the Noldor cannot arrive on the shores of the Blessed emaciated and grief-stricken; no, you must be proud–proud, beautiful and strong."

The Queen finished the last three words with her daughter.  _"Proud, beautiful and strong"_ was what Gil-galad had said when he first met her; they were the virtues she had striven to instill in her daughter from a young age. Now that she was leaving Middle Earth, she could only hope that her daughter would live up to them. Would she find and accept an  _ellon_  who would say the same about her one day? Glorfindel thought of her thus no doubt, but she did not return his affection. Would she have a daughter of her own to teach those words too? She was well loved by the little elflings of Imladris, though there were only a few. She no doubt would be an excellent mother.  _"Proud, beautiful and strong."_ The queen took the plate from her daughter and began to eat, determined to acquiesce to her daughter's commands if only to grant her some small happiness before she left. Who would she care for when she departed? Who would be the recipient of her ever-giving heart? For a time most likely it would be Elrond; he was her cousin, after all, and she would remain with him until she found her mate, her other half. Who would it be, she wondered. But she would not know for many an age. She had lost her husband, and now, because of her grief, she would lose her daughter. Tears threatened to spill, but did not.  _"Proud, beautiful and strong."_  It was all she had ever been and all she would be. She only could hope that her daughter would be the same, despite the fact she would soon be orphaned.

"You should not worry so,  _Nana_ … I will be fine." Her daughter's voice broke her silent reverie. "And when my time is done, I will sail with my family. Perhaps Manwë will be kind and release father's  _feä_ , and we shall all be reunited. We must have hope,  _Nana_. We have eternity, and it is useless without hope."

Yes, thought the queen before she could muster a response, she will be fine. She had hope, in spite of the grief she had seen, and her hope would be enough to keep her proud, beautiful and strong in a rather weary world.

* * *

**_Imladris, T.A. 107 Winter_ **

"I do not see why you trouble yourself."

"Because,  _mellon nin_ , tonight is the night!"

"The night? It is only Yule."

"Only Yule?!" Blonde eyebrows shot up incredulously. "Nay, it is more than just Yule,  _mellon nin_ , it is the night I win the heart of the beloved Gíl-wen."

Erestor sighed in exasperation at Glorfindel's futile optimism. Glorfindel and Gíl-wen had been friends for an age and it was unlikely to change because of the warrior's new found heart. Erestor put his head in his right hand and leaned upon the mantel piece for support, a little too close to the lighted candles. His fair face twisted in a perplexed frown. "You must be desperate indeed if you call me 'friend'."

"Oh quiet, Erestor... One of these days, she will relent and let me court her. She will. She must. I love her."

"Of course… "

"She needs only to give me the chance and she will love me too."

"Of course… "

"She will see we are meant to be."

"Of course… "

"She will most likely give me permission tonight."

"Of course… "

"Your hair is on fire."

"Of course… "

"Seriously, Erestor, it is."

* * *

The Hall of Fire was bright with candles and holly berries and evergreen boughs for the Yule ball that was held yearly for the inhabitants of Imladris. Dancing, song and revelry lasted long into the cold starry night, and the elves in the hall were all but oblivious to the swirling white snow that fell silently in the calm valley. All but one...

In a corner of the warm hall, oblivious to the festive merry-makers, Gíl-wen blew on the frosted pane and outlined  _t_ _engwar_  in the crystal-cloud that formed from the warmth of her breath. She had danced with several of the  _ellyn_  and now sought a brief rest. She felt giddy, a bit like an elfling, as she traced the patterns upon the pane, but tonight was the first night since her mother's parting that she did not feel the grief as keenly. It had only been a hundred years and she was slowly healing. Yes, the pain from her parting was still there, a dull ache that could never go away, but she felt that her mother was in a better place to heal from the grief of her father; there was always chance that her parents would be reunited. Gíl-wen was as happy as she could be in the circumstances and she only could only hope that her mother had found some peace in the Blessed Realm.

"Happy Yule,  _Naneth_ … " She murmured under her breath and turned to face the boisterous crowd; however, a bright young golden haired elleth obscured her view of the revelry.

"Come, Gíl-wen, you must dance!"

"Shouldn't you be bothering Elrond, Cel?" she asked, eyebrows raised in faint annoyance.

"Of course, but you should be bothering to find yourself a suitor. Lord Glorfindel just arrived," Celebrian announced with a pompous air, then giggled slightly.

"Not him, again."

"Yes, him, indeed. He looks quite handsome. Erestor is with him, and his hair appears to be singed. I wonder what happened." More giggling.

"Really, Cel, how much wine have you consumed?"

"Only one goblet, but Gíl, oh Gíl, I am in love."

"Yes, with Elrond, I know."

"Don't be such a spoil sport. It's Yule! At least dance with Glorfindel."

Gíl-wen sighed resignedly. "One dance... and it doesn't mean I am going to court him."

"Of course… "

"He is rather an insufferable  _ellon_."

"Of course… "

"He tells the worst jokes."

"Of course… "

"But I guess, if I must..."

"Of course… " And with that, Celebrian pushed her gently in the direction of the approaching _ellyn._


	2. Just A Dance

Glorfindel and Erestor slowly approached the two  _ellyth_ , Erestor slightly hanging back so that his friend could approach Gíl-wen to press his suit.

"Princess," he said, bowing slightly, his hand over his heart in respect.

Gíl-wen raised her eyebrows. "Glorfindel, I am hardly a princess anymore, especially not to you,  _mellon nin._  Please do not address me as such. It makes me feel rather haughty; I am simply Gíl-wen, or, Gíl, or, if you insist, Lady Gíl-wen."

"Very well, Lady Gíl-wen, may I have this dance?"

"If you insist… " And she put her small hand in the Golden Lord's with a small sigh. As he led her to the midst of the dancers, Erestor moved to speak with Celebrian.

"They make a good couple, my lady, do you not think so?" he said to her, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Indeed," Celebrian replied. " And yet I do not believe they are _fëa_  mates. She is too, well, too forceful, stubborn, and independent for him, to say the least. She needs someone with just as much spirit as herself; one who can contradict her as forcefully as she contradicts others. Someone with spirit and temper to match. Fin has slain a balrog, it is true, yet I fear he will not tame Gil-galad's daughter."

"As fierce as a balrog, that one… " Erestor agreed.

"As stubborn as a dwarf… "

"Hmmmm, yes, true, true; but she is kind and beautiful as well, and Fin admires her for this reason."

"Well, she made it clear to me that this is 'just a dance', so he must continue to admire from afar."

* * *

As the two discussed the unlikelihood of a courtship between the Princess and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, the pair in question wove skillfully in and out of the dancing elves; their conversation, however, was not as skillful as their footwork.

"You look quite lovely tonight, Gíl-wen."

"ummmhmmmm… "

"Your dress is stunning; did you make it yourself?"

"I hate sewing. You know this… "

A few more turns.

"I hear you helped Erestor in the library the other day– "

"No, no, that was not me. I was only passing by to torment the poor thing."

"Awww, I see… "

The dance ended in awkward silence and Glorfindel hesitated in front of Gíl-wen, before mustering the courage to ask:

"Perhaps, my lady, you would like to accompany me to a quieter setting?"

"Why should I do such a thing, my lord? To struggle even more with conversation?" She bestowed a look of sympathy on the obviously love-struck  _ellon_. "I am sorry, Glorfindel, but truly I cannot give you all you ask for; I only promised one dance." She moved away from the revelry, but he followed, not wishing to give up so easily.

"Am I too lowly for you, my lady? Is it my past that bothers you so? Pray tell me what it is. I can change. For you. I would slay another balrog."

"Fin," Gíl-wen sighed. "This is not you. This… " She gestured to his person. "This is a love struck  _ellon_  in front of me and not the carefree friend of my childhood. We are not well suited to each other, Fin, and you know this. You are too kind for me."

" I can be forceful."

"Fin… "

"I can be stubborn. I have not given up on you yet, have I?"

"Fin… "

"Please, Gíl, please… can we try?"

"I said just a dance."

"We can take things slow… just a dance here and there, a picnic once in a while…"

Gíl-wen sighed again and looked straight into his blue eyes: "Are you certain you wish to do this? You could get hurt, Fin, and it is the last thing I wish to do to a friend."

It was indeed the last thing she wished to do. She could not pinpoint exactly why or what it was that was keeping her from giving her heart to Glorfindel. They had been friends since she had been a young  _elleth_. He had taught her how to use a bow, and she had taught him how to play pranks on Erestor. Then, before the last war, he had changed. Well, to be fair, she had changed, and he had noticed. But she could not return his affection. In her mind, he was like her brother. Perhaps  _she_  was being too stubborn, she thought as she eyed her starry-eyed pleading companion. Perhaps if she relented, if she tried, it would not be too awkward. Glorfindel broke through her silent musings.

"I _am_  certain, Gíl. I do not fear for my heart. I am certain we are meant to be. You will see."

For him, her friend, she could at least try. Perhaps  _naneth_  would prove to be correct...

"Very well, Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, I, Gíl-wen, ex- Crowned Princess of the Noldor, accept your suit."

To say that the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower radiated pure joy would have been an understatement. Gíl-wen was positive that even the fiery creature he had slain had not shown as bright as he did in that moment of what she suspected to be unadulterated happiness for him. He was positively beaming, and, was he bouncing on his toes? It was rather endearing. He stretched out his hand to take hers.

" Shall we then dance in celebration, my lady?

"Lead on, dread Balrog Slayer… "

* * *

"They are dancing again, my lady."

"It will not last, Erestor."

"Yes, but for now, I believe Fin has won."

"Won what, librarian?" Arched eyebrows, attached to the fair face of the Lord of Imladris, appeared over Celebrian's shoulder. He had slipped in behind his beloved, wrapped an arm about her waist and nestled his chin close to the side of her face. He looked bemusedly down at Erestor as if daring his advisor to say something about the blatant display of affection towards his intended. Erestor, being truly a bachelor, was rather frightened of both  _ellyth_ and such romantic displays. Why, Elrond could not even begin to imagine. He was quite comfortable with such a beautiful lady in his arms.

"Elrond!" said Celebrian, slightly startled, before she settled into his warm embrace.

" _Meleth_..." he murmured into her hair.

"My lord!"

"You were saying, Erestor… "

"Glorfindel appears to have finally persuaded the Lady Gíl-wen to accept his suit," rejoined Erestor, trying to focus on the dancers, instead of his lord's affectionate behavior toward Celebrian.

Elrond's eyebrows arched even further. "Has he indeed? After an age… It is perhaps the hopelessness on her part of finding a suitable match. I do not think that the two are well-suited. They are more brother and sister, after a fashion."

"She is far from hopeless, Elrond; she is simply picky." Celebrian rose to defend her friend, though she knew that her suitor meant well. "And there are few elves left who feel worthy of her lineage, though she could care less if her love were a simple minstrel. Perhaps Glorfindel is the only one not threaten by her title. But we agree, the two seem ill-suited; perhaps they will prove us wrong."

"Perhaps,  _meleth_ , perhaps." And he kissed the top of his beloved's head. "Only time will tell." He turned again to his advisor. "By the way, librarian, you smell rather burnt... Care to explain?"


	3. Meanwhile in the Greenwood

_**Greenwood the Great T.A. 107 Winter** _

Thranduil swirled yet another glass of Dorwinion in his hand, as he looked over the merry sea of his feasting people. At least they were happy. This was the first Yule where the grief from the Last Alliance did not weigh heavily on the shoulders of his elves. They were a simple folk who cared more for the beauty of the trees and the peace of their own forest than for the politics and alliances of greater kingdoms. But here he was. The last Elven King in Middle Earth. Alone, in a forest of rather drunk wood elves who danced merrily around the flames of the Yule fire. He took another swallow of wine. His father had to go and stubbornly refuse to collaborate with Gil-galad, a decision which resulted in Thranduil having to wear the rather heavy berry crown and take up the oaken staff. Yes, it was  _Ada_ 's fault entirely that he was in this situation to begin with.

 _"_ Adar _, we must wait. We cannot charge ahead so recklessly."_

 _"Thranduil, I refuse, refuse to let these Noldor up-starts think that we of the Greenwood cannot fight as well as they and are not of the same mettle as them! High elves, indeed. Our woodland people have every right to fight just as bravely as their snobbish kin, and they will do so. We do not need Gil-galad's blessing. Did you not train these warriors yourself,_  ion nin _?"_

 _"Yes,_ adar _, but they are not as disciplined as Gil-galad's troops and you know this…."_

_"They are strong and well-enough disciplined to hold their own amongst this orc rabble. We will lead an assault_ _on the morrow."_

The assault had cost them a King, and one-third of the Woodland army, and Thranduil had found himself before the High King of the Elves to save the rest of his people from sure slaughter.

_"We will submit to your leadership, my lord, but do not expect us to fight like Noldor."_

_"Are we not all elves,_ penneth _?" Gil-galad was put out by the young King's distinction of Elven races. In his mind, it had been Oropher's pride in the Sylvan race that had blinded the Woodland King to the need to work together. He had thought Thranduil would understand the situation better, but glancing at the young elf before him, who carried himself with all the dignity and stubbornness of a ruler, perhaps Gil-galad was mistaken._

_"I am hardly a child, High King."_

_"Yes, true, you are now a king… and pride does not become you. You see where it led your father."_

_"My father did what he thought was right." Thranduil grew taller and more imposing with these words. He would defend his father publicly, even if inwardly he was cursing him for the same reason as the High King._

_"At the cost of so many lives…"_

Gil-galad was correct of course: Oropher had led a third of his elves to their deaths, but they had followed their king willingly and had fought and died bravely. Then Thranduil was left to pick up the pieces and, after Sauron's defeat, he led his diminished troops home to the Greenwood–brothers, fathers, cousins, dead and gone, and the elves of the Woodland Realm disheartened and grieving in their wake.

Thranduil's mother had surprisingly remained in Middle Earth after his father's death, unlike Gil-galad's own queen. Though she was but a shadow of her former self, she had piece by piece, day by day, year after year, helped her son to pick up the pieces of a broken kingdom. Now that the wood elves were once again merry, she had retreated into herself and began to distance herself from her son. Indeed, she had not joined in the revelry of the evening.

 _"Are we not all elves?"_  Gil-galad had asked him.

True, but his people were simpler than their Noldor kin. From their experiences during the battle of the Last Alliance, the Sylvan elves had become wary of strangers and foreign alliances, even distrustful of the other elves that still lingered in Middle Earth in Imladris and Lórien.

And Thranduil did nothing to discourage such xenophobic attitudes.

True, Oropher had acted against the orders of Gil-galad, but Gil-galad had sent no reinforcements to help thwart the slaughter of his people and Thranduil had been forced to retreat. He snorted softly into his wine. Gil-galad had berated him for making distinctions between the elven races, when it was the High King himself who left his woodland brothers to die.

"Melancholy much, my king? Surely, not tonight of all nights?" During the king's despondent musings, his butler had silently come to stand by his side. The pale blonde ruler turned a haughty gaze towards the newcomer.

"Now you question your king's mood, Galion. I have no idea why I put up with you."

"Because someone needs to wash your socks, sire." Galion retorted flippantly.

" _Ai_ , I should get a wife."

"Yes, you should. I can retire."

Thranduil chuckled softly at the comment. Galion had been by his side since he had been but a small elfling in Lindon. He had not even been a prince at that time, much less a king, yet Galion had saved him from a rather nasty archery mishap and since that time, he had served as Thranduil's friend, butler and common sense. He would never retire, even if the king did find himself a mate.

"And where would you go?"

Galion closed his eyes as if picturing his own little Valinor. "Somewhere where there are no haughty, moody Elven Kings with smelly socks…" He opened one eye to find Thranduil glaring at him, though there was a faint glint of amusement in his grey-blue eyes. "I would hardly know where to go, Thranduil, and you well know that." The butler said honestly opening both eyes as he glanced back out towards the dancers. "Perhaps your wife would let me do the cleaning up every other day."

"Perhaps. But I shall have to find one first." The king sobered once again, his twinkling eyes growing more somber. "I do believe  _Naneth_  means to sail now and I will be alone, Galion." His mother had talked about leaving these shores for a while now, nothing much, just subtle hints here and there. "I can manage alone, Galion, but somehow the thought terrifies me-not having someone there to tell me when I am wrong, to keep me on the straight path, to temper my judgment so I do not end up like my father."

"You are not your father, my king. You should not worry so." Galion nodded towards the revelers, adding cheekily: "You should be out among the pretty maidens of your kingdom, if you hope to find a wife. You cannot change the past, sire. If you want to live in the present, then you must seize the moment."

Thranduil glared again at his friend and servant. "You are _too_  cheerful, Galion."

Galion laughed merrily. "Because I am the servant and you are the king. If I  _were_  king, I would not be the depressing bump-on-the-log you are currently."

Thranduil sighed. "I fear I am depressed because I am remembering the past, yet also because I am thinking of the future. I fear I will not find a suitable match among my people; these  _ellyth_  are far too young and rather frivolous. I do not see any of them as a good candidate for a queen. A queen must not just know how to dance, Galion."

Despite Thranduil's persistent gloominess, Galion could not be hindered in his attempt to cheer his king. Tonight was Yule and he was determined to see his friend and master laugh.

"So, are we to pay your cousin a visit then, sire?" He asked bemusedly. While Thranduil was on decent terms with his cousin Celeborn, he was rather distant with Galadriel to say the least. "I hear his daughter is quite lovely."

"And currently courting the  _peredhel_ , Elrond." The Elven King shot down the suggestion and slightly shuddered at the thought of having the Lady of Light as a mother-in-law. "Gil-galad's herald… You remember him?"

"Yes, he was quite kind in his condolences of your father's death…"

"True, as sincere as one could be given the circumstances." Though Thranduil did not get along with many outside his own people, he harborored no grudge towards the Lord of Rivendell. Elrond had been understanding and kind in the wake of Oropher's passing and had even offered the young King his hospitality should he ever travel to Imladris. "Perhaps I will join mother when she travels west and accompany her to the Havens. And I will pay him a visit."

"Do you intend to try to steal the Lady Celebrian away from him, sire?"

Thranduil laughed whole heartedly for the first time that evening. "Nay, my friend, but I do intend to stir things up."


	4. An Unexpected Visitor

**_Imladris, T.A. 108 Spring_ **

"Oh bother."

"What ails you, cousin?" Asked Gíl-wen sweetly from the doorway of Elrond's study. It was the first week of spring and the fair valley of Rivendell was in full bloom. The breeze was the light and the day was warm; the princess had just returned from a rather enjoyable picnic with Glorfindel. Their courtship had progressed steadily since Yule, but still Gíl-wen had not given him her heart. She thought that her affection would grow for the captain of her cousin's warriors, yet, while little kisses were stolen here and there and words of affection murmured in their conversations, her feelings remained stagnant. However on this sunlit day, little could dampen her spirits; yet, her cousin's face was knit into a small frown, so she had decided that it would be only familial duty to cheer him up.

"It is a letter," replied Elrond, waving a piece of parchment in her direction. "A letter from the King of the Greenwood writing to tell me of his impending visit. When I had offered him the hospitality of Imladris should he ever be passing by, I had never thought he would accept the offer."

"Is he a bad sort of elf?" Gíl-wen asked slumping in a rather un-lady like manner onto a chaise across from the  _peredhel's_  desk and absent-mindedly picking at the designs on her gown.

"Nay, not really, just rather stubborn and proud, though I do not know much of his character. I met him briefly to offer condolences for the death of his father, and then once again to escort him to your father's presence."

"Ahhhhh, he fought for  _Adar._ " Gíl-wen sobered slightly at the memory. "But you say he is a king now?"

"Yes, the King of the Greenwood. The Sylvan elves chose his father for their leader. He is now king in Oropher's stead."

"So why is he coming to Imladris? Politics? Alliances?"

"Actually, I do not know. He was not very specific in his letter." He handed the parchment to the _elleth_ , who accepted and read aloud:

_"Elrond,_

_I am journeying to Imladris and I shall arrive around April the 3rd._

_I am assuming that your offer still stands,_

_Thranduil_

_King of the Greenwood_."

"Does he even know what a letter is?" She asked amusedly.

"At least he is kind enough to warn us. But I should warn Erestor now, and preparations will have to be made to accommodate him, as I am sure he is not traveling alone. I know his father was rather judgemental of the Noldor and, though I know not if Thranduil has inherited this trait, I do not wish to give him cause for contempt."

Gíl-wen frowned. "I do not understand; are we not all elves? Why would he hold contempt for us?"

Sighing, Elrond took the letter back from his cousin and sat upon the edge of his desk. "Because sadly, during the time of the Last Alliance, some of the Noldor treated the Sylvan elves that had come with disdain. It did not help matters either when your father refused to send aid to their troops when Oropher attacked prematurely."

"Why would  _Ada_  not help them?"

"The situation was hopeless, Gíl. He wanted the wood elves to retreat, which they did, but not before their king was killed. The last I saw of Thranduil he had just lost a father, a king, a third of his people, and from his viewpoint, Gil-galad had stood by and done nothing. He was not happy with, nor entirely respectful to, your father. He was grieving; yet, aside from that, he seemed like an honorable  _ellon_.''

"Hmmmm, did he?" she replied unbelieving. "He sounds rather stuck up if you ask me," thinking of the short missive they had received.

"I fear that is merely his way. He is rather terse in his correspondence."

"Terse?! That, and demanding. He does not ask, merely assumes." Gíl-wen was rather put out by the Elven King's rather short announcement of his impending arrival. "Like I said before, stuck up."

"We shall see…" came her cousin's reply.

* * *

Imladris was a bustle of activity in the three weeks that followed, but in spite of all, Glorfindel still found time to court Gíl-wen. While she enjoyed the attention, she still had not given him her heart.

On a busy Thursday afternoon, he found Gíl-wen in her sitting room painstakingly embroidering a gown. Giving her a gentle kiss on the top of the head, he laid a bouquet of wildflowers on the table beside her and took the seat across from her.

"Enjoying yourself this fine afternoon,  _meleth_? You should set your work aside and join me for a walk in the gardens."

She groaned in faint annoyance. "Not now, Fin... I have to finish this cursed gown, since Cel is not here to do it for me. Curse the woodland king!" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Perhaps I should wear servant's attire to greet him."

"You would still look just as beautiful,  _meleth_. Come, cease your sewing and let us go out into the sun to enjoy the afternoon."

"As tempting as that is Fin, I promised Elrond I would be there with him to receive the king. I promised, Fin, and I will give that  _k_ _ing_  no edge to think badly of my cousin's house. I will have to be proper."

Glorfindel snorted. "Proper! You will not give him a taste of your humor?"

"If he even has a sense of humor, Fin. He cannot even write a decent letter. I question his mental ability. He may not even get my jokes and pranks." She said these words in a vexed tone, stabbed again at her embroidery and muttered under her breath: "especially not yours."

"What was that,  _meleth_? Come now, I tell wonderful jokes," her intended protested. "Are you  _sew_  into your work that you forgot how witty I am?" He said this last bit with a slight twinkle in his eye.

"I fail to see the humor here, Fin," she replied, eyebrows knit in confusion.

" _Sew_ … So… it is a pun,  _meleth_."

"So…"

"Yes, exactly."

"So." She said again, shrugging her shoulders slightly. Then her lips turned up in a small grin.

"Ah, you get it now!" said Glorfindel excitedly. "Now put your gown away and come with me and we can go tell Erestor of my marvelous new play on words!" He grabbed her sewing from her hands, and kissed her nose, then pulled her from her chair before she could protest.

"Fine, I will come with you, and when Thranduil wonders why Gil-galad's daughter is dressed like a serving wench, I will simply tell him that it is because the Great Glorfindel is a great distraction and does not care for such things as propriety."

"Well, you would be telling the truth for I am a distraction." He held up a finger as if counting. Then he slipped his arm about her waist and pulled her close. "And I definitely do not care for propriety." With that, he kissed her soundly on the lips, Erestor forgotten for the time being.

* * *

Erestor had finally gotten the last candelabra dusted, polished and shined in the Hall of Fire. Through out the Last Homely House, rooms had been aired and prepared for the Elven King and his retinue. And Erestor had overseen the undertaking of all such preparations. Finally, with the finishing touches to the Hall of Fire, he could take a well deserved rest.

"Quick, Fin, catch it! Don't let it get away. Fin! Hurry, he went that way."

A small bundle of fur went dashing through the hall, dragging an  _elleth_ 's gown behind it, which was getting caught in the standing candle sticks and simultaneously dragging them along with it. Dirty prints muddied Erestor's freshly waxed floor, as Glorfindel came sliding to a halt in the doorway, followed closely by a breathless Gíl-wen.

"Catch him, Erestor!" the  _elleth_  exclaimed. "He's got my gown!"

Too stunned and heartbroken by the mess to move, Erestor simply remained glaring at the two elves, eyebrows arched in resemblance of his master's, and the poor bunny, having untangled itself from the clothing, had escaped into an adjacent room. Glorfindel, seeing the look on his friend's face and knowing his displeasure, pursued the creature in haste, jumping over the fallen articles, while exclaiming:

"I will catch him! Sorry, Res, got to go! Duty calls!"

This left Gíl-wen alone with a slightly angry Erestor.

"Oh, Erestor, I am sorry, if I had known he would have escaped, and caused such a mess, I would never have dressed Finwë up as an  _elleth_!"

Erestor blinked twice and then spluttered: "Finwë?!"

"Ah yes," said Gíl-wen as if it were the most sensible and normal thing in the world to name one's pet rabbit after a High King of the Elves, and she began to pick up the things her pet had knocked over." He was looking down today and we thought that he could use some cheering up, so we decided to let him try on the dress I am to wear for Thranduil's reception. He liked it as much as I did." She picked up the gown in question and ran her hand over a rather large tear. "Oh dear, it is torn. I do believe I shall have to dress as a serving wench after all."

Erestor could only blanch at such a suggestion, and stared wide-eyed in horror at the princess. "No…" he whispered.

She looked up from her examination of the garment and returned his gaze, with twinkling mirth-filled eyes, and countered his soft spoken proclamation.

"Yes…."


	5. A King's Arrival

**_Imladris, T.A. 108 April 3_ **

"What is that thing?" came a hushed whisper from the gathered elves.

"How does he even get on that?" mused another.

"How does he feed it, I want to know? And how much does it eat?"

Elrond sent a small glare to his advisors and his cousin who had gathered to greet the Elven King. Thankfully, Thranduil was just entering the gates to the valley and could not hear their comments, or at least Elrond hoped.

Said Elven King was seated on top of a magnificent woodland elk, Thranduil's long pale hair flowing free and a crown of springtime flowers perched regally on his head. He looked at his surroundings curiously and yet still maintained the air of majesty befitting a king. Elrond had to agree with the captain of his guard, however; how was Thranduil ever to get down from his eccentric mount?

As if in answer to his question, the elk had come to a halt where the Lord of Imladris stood waiting. Without so much as a pause, Thranduil swept his leg over his mount's flank and dismounted gracefully with little effort, landing on his feet with a small thud.

Elrond look surprised but said nothing and bowed slightly, hand over his heart in greeting.

"Welcome to Imladris, King Thranduil."

Thranduil returned the gesture as well as the greeting. "Many thanks, Elrond. And please, call me Thranduil, or at least Lord Thranduil if you must. These titles make me feel old."

Behind Elrond, Gíl-wen raised her eyebrows slightly and smiled. She thought the same of such titles. Perhaps the Elven King was not as pompous as she had suspected.

"Very well my lord, we are happy to have you here."

"And I to be here." While this exchange was taking place, a beautiful and yet sorrowful  _elleth_  appeared at his side. "Ahhh  _Naneth_ … Lord Elrond, may I present my mother, Queen Faeltheliel of the Greenwood."

Elrond took her hand and kissed it gently. "Your majesty, welcome to Imladris."

Unlike her son, the queen mother did not correct Elrond regarding the use of her title. "My thanks, Lord Elrond." Her voice sounded hollow, bereft of any emotion, and her eyes betrayed a weariness that could not have been merely from her journey.

At this moment Gíl-wen chose to step forward, taking pity on the Elven Queen who reminded her so much of her own mother in her last days on Middle Earth.

"Can I show you to your chambers, my lady?" She ventured kindly.

Thranduil noted the  _elleth_  who had offered her assistance to his mother. Her raven hair was pulled away from high cheek bones in a single simple braid that had been thrown carelessly over her shoulder. Her eyes were of a sea blue sort and full of compassion as she gazed upon the queen. She was dressed in a plain dress of green with an edge of silver filigree on the hem, but there was something about her, Thranduil could not quite place what, that betrayed something of a royal, or at least noble, lineage, and nothing of a servant, for her dress itself spoke of simpler rank than a lady. She could not be Celebrian; he was certain his cousin's daughter had fair hair not dark. Who was this mysterious, kind, and enchanting  _elleth_ , he wondered. But before he had a chance to introduce himself, as if introductions were necessary–and yet Thranduil felt pulled by fate to so–the lady had led the queen-mother aside and into the house. Apparently in that brief moment of hesitation when Thranduil was examining her, his mother had acquiesced to her proposal and the two had made their way into the last homely house. Elrond's voice brought him out of his musings:

"My cousin has shown your _naneth_  to her rooms. Perhaps you should like to go to yours before dinner," the  _peredhel_  lord glanced nervously at the creature behind the Elven King. "Though perhaps you would like to see to your mount first."

"Ah yes, that would be quite kind. I do not know if the stables would be quite conducive to Aglar, he is rather claustrophobic. Perhaps a small bit of open meadow for him to graze upon. If one of your household could show Galion to such a field, my butler can take care of his accommodations."

Elrond's eyebrows lifted in disbelief at the King's words, but he gestured to Erestor all the same to show the King's overgrown pet–apparently–to some small grassland in the valley. Erestor moved forward to do as he was bid, nervously eying the animal and wondering if such a gargantuan creature could create such a disturbance as Finwe the Rabbit was known to do. Galion, a blonde  _ellon_ , who stood by the King's mount petting the beast's nose, smiled politely, though a bit warily, at the approaching housekeeper.

"He is not too much trouble," he said apologetically. "He just takes up room."

Erestor nodded, albeit a bit disbelievingly, and the two elves left the courtyard leading the noble elk to greener pastures.

Thranduil watched them go and commented to his host: "A fine creature, do you not think so?"

Something of a snort came from Glorfindel that sounded a bit like "excessive", but Elrond's hasty reply of "Indeed, my lord," averted the King's attention from such rudeness. The  _p_ _eredhel_  cast yet another glare in his captain's direction before the Sinda had time to turn around and thus a political crisis was prevented for the time being. "I can show you to your quarters my lord before dinner… " said Elrond, changing the topic from the elk–quite successfully as a matter of fact.

"Yes, thank you. I should like to change, it has been quite a long journey." It was only after the Lord of Imladris had drawn his attention back to the subject of housing, that Thranduil remembered an earlier comment of Elrond's and asked earnestly. "You named the _elleth_  that led my mother into the halls as your cousin?"

"Ah yes, a distant cousin, but a cousin nonetheless." Elrond nodded in agreement aa he led the King through the corridors of his house to the guest rooms. Glorfindel followed a few steps behind. "She is the daughter of Gil-galad, Princess of the Noldor."

"Currently courting Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin… " A certain balrog slayer added in his mind possessively; he had noted Thranduil's appraisal of Gíl-wen earlier, and did not like the Sinda's interest nor his curiosity.

"Gil-galad had a daughter? I did not know. She did not travel with her mother then?"

"Yes, her name is Gíl-wen, and no, she did not travel with High-Queen Idhrengellil. She remained here as she felt that it was not her time to pass into Valinor."

"And she is currently courting Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin." This last bit Glorfindel had added in his mind again.

Or so he thought.

The Elven King turned to face the Balrog Slayer, who bumped into woodland monarch, as he had been looking down while walking, intent on the apparent interest Thranduil had in his beloved.

Furious and possessive eyes met curious ones that lit up under raised brows. The two  _ellyn_  assessed one another.

"Lord Glorfindel, I presume?" asked the King amusedly.

"Yes," replied the lord tartly.

"Balrog Slayer?" Asked the first, sizing up his companion.

"Yes," replied the second, drawing himself up taller.

"Elven  _King,_ " replied Thranduil, not missing a beat, and he winked at the fuming _ellon_ , before turning back to a an exasperated Elrond, who wanted nothing more than to remove the two rather temperamental elves from each other presence. Elrond could deal with Glorfindel. It would be easy enough to put the captain of his warriors in place and remind him of the need to be conducive to positive inter-realm relations, in spite of the fact that the elven king showed interest in the golden lord's beloved. Thranduil on the other hand… the Elven King's voice brought him back to the harsh reality that he had much to learn of the Sindarin lord and his various moods, as well as his humor.

"Where are my rooms,  _peredhel_?"


	6. A Confrontation-Part One

Gíl-wen wandered the halls of Imladris rather aimlessly for one who had lived there for ages, carrying with her some towels that the visiting queen had no need of. Having shown Faeltheliel to her rooms, she was struck again with sadness remembering her own mother. The queen of the Greenwood had barely spoken save a few necessary courtesies, and Gíl-wen had left her looking out to the east in mournful silence. In her mind, Gíl-wen was rather put out that the Elven King had not followed his mother to see she was alright . She had expected him go after them and be certain of his mother's comfort and well-being. She had thought that perhaps she was being unfavorable but his absence spoke measures against his good nature and she mentally berated him for being lax in his duties as a son.

"Stupid, foolish king…" she muttered under her breath, not watching where she was going.

"What was that, my lady?" came an amused voice suddenly before her.

"Ah my king, I was only saying stupid foolish thing… you see  _this_  thing, ummm this thing..." she pointed helplessly to the towels she had draped her over arm and picked one up as if inspecting it. "See, it is stupid and foolish… " she babbled on trying to save herself; while she personally had very fixed unflattering feelings about the Elven King, she certainly did not want to create any problems for Elrond.

"Is it indeed, my lady?" mused Thranduil. " Hmmmmm, it is merely a towel and has little capacity for stupidity or foolishness; however, certain elven kings feel certainly foolish while in the presence of such a gorgeous  _elleth_." He took her towels from her and threw them haphazardly over his shoulder, then he took her hand and magnanimously kissed it. "Gíl-wen, is it not?"

And several things went through Gíl-wen's head simultaneously in that given moment:

There was the rather irritated notion that he was flirting with her while his mother faded from grief in the next room. Then there was also a passing thought on how wonderfully blue his eyes were. Not bright blue like the clear sky on a summer day, but a grey-blue like the forest sky before the first rains of spring-freshness and warmth in them, along with ages of the world. And oddly, she noticed her heart raise in anticipation when he kissed her hand. Glorfindel could never evoke these emotions in her...  _Glorfindel!_

She hastily stole her hand away from his grasp.

"I am sorry, my lord, but I must you forgive me. I must be going."

"Must you? The name is Thranduil," said the king, not at all deterred by her embarrassment.

Returning to her senses and a bit put out by his forwardness, Gíl-wen, forgetting all politics and promises to Elrond to behave, quickly retorted:

"Oh really, here I thought you were Fëanor." The Elven King's eyes widen in horror at the assumption that he would have anything to do with the Noldo. Gíl-wen continued smugly, "well,  _Thranduil_ , I really must be going. As much as I would love to stay and chat, I have things to do, rooms to clean, towels to fold… "

Thranduil blinked twice as he had expected  _all_   _ellyth_  to fall in love with his title and his charms, not to mention his dashing good looks, and here was one who was too busy to entertain him, but as quick as he blinked, so quickly too did he gathered his wits about him to blocked her impending escape.

"I think not, fair lady; you may dress like a servant, but you are hardly anything but a princess-stay and talk with me."

"Should you not be looking after your  _naneth_?" She replied unwilling to give him the upper hand in the conversation.

Again, Thranduil surprised the  _elleth._  He sobered a bit at this question and a small hint of sadness was betrayed in his grey-blue eyes.

"Ah, yes." Politely, he handed the towels back to a puzzled Gíl-wen. "Here are your stupid foolish towels. Could you possibly point me in the direction of my mother's chambers?"

Gíl-wen, rather mystified at his instant change in temper, stuttered, "Yes, of course my lord," and turned to walk back from whence she had come.

Thranduil followed and commented softly. "Thank you for showing her to her rooms earlier. I am sincerely sorry for your loss as well. And I hope that your own  _naneth_  has found peace in Valinor, my princess."

Wherever did he hide that haughty elvish king who bluntly gave commands and rode a six foot tall majestic woodland elk? Gíl-wen wondered.

"And the name is Thranduil." This he said without the arrogant flirtatious tone of his preceding conversation.

"Of course, my–  _Thranduil_ , thank you for your condolences." She replied still confused at the change.

Thranduil laughed lightly at her response. "Your Thranduil? We only just met,  _Gíl-wen nin_."

There. There he was again, haughty King, but Gíl-wen blushed slightly at this endearment, glad she was not facing him.

"It was a slip of the tongue, Thranduil."

"Mine was not,  _gí_ _l nin_." (my star)

Gíl-wen stopped in her tracks. Thranduil glanced up at her curiously.

"My lady? I did not mean to trouble you… "

"No, no, you did not," she said silently reminiscing. " _Ada_  use to call me that…Mother would call me her  _little_  star, but  _Ada_ , _Ada_  never called me 'little'. I was always 'his star', simply ' _gíl nin'._ "

* * *

 _"_ Ada, Ada _! look, look what I made!" A small raven haired elfling ran to her father with a crude paper drawing of three bright yellow dots against a solid black background. One dot stood out amongst the others._

 _"What is it_ , gíl nin _?"_

 _The elfling laughed. "Silly_ Ada _, it's Eawendil in the night," as if it were the most obvious thing in the world._

 _"Silly elfling," laughed Gil-galad warmly, as he tapped his daughter's nose. "It's said Eärendil, and I knew that of course. But there are three yellow stars, who are Eärendil's friends,_  gíl nin _?"_

 _"Why, they awe you and me,_  Ada.  _I am you staw and you awe mine." (I am your star and you are mine) And little Gíl-wen reached to hug her father about his knees._

 _"Yes,_ gíl nin.  _You are mine," replied the High King, stooping to pick her up._

 _"I will always be yous, won't I,_  Ada?  _You will not leave me like, Eawindil left El-ond. He doesn't have an_  ada  _any more, and that's why he makes those sewious faces." The little_  elleth  _raised her eyebrows as high as she could and try to pull her best serious face with pouty lips._

 _Gil-galad pulled his daughter to him and kissed her forehead. "Nay_ , gíl nin, _I shall not leave you like Eärendil."_

* * *

Gíl-wen fought back her tears.  _Ada_  left,  _Ada_  died, and there was no star shinning in the heavens as a reminder that he still watched over her.

"My lady, I am sorry if I brought back unpleasant memories." Thranduil's voice both was soft and gentle, respectful and warm.

Gíl-wen turned to smile at him. "No, Thranduil, it is alright." She laughed slightly. "I am not sure my suitor shall agree with your use of the term, but I rather liked the nick-name and I do not mind. It will remind me of our first meeting and your persistence to get me to drop your title."

Thranduil smiled genuinely. "Dratted things, titles, are they not? Like those horrid dress robes your cousin wears. Heavy, and concealing the true figure."

She giggled. (Since when did she giggle? Celebrian was the love-struck giggler besotted with Elrond.) "They are quite horrid, are they not? He looks ancient in them."

"Does he wear them all the time? I suspect they must be quite comfortable to never take off."

"I don't know. He says they evoke a certain majesty."

"Bah! I evoke majesty shirtless."

Gíl-wen tried to put the image from her head, though quite unsuccessfully. "I am sure you do, my Thranduil."

"Care to check?" he smiled cheekily at her.

"You  _do_  know, the Balrog Slayer is courting me… " She replied in kind.

"Of course, so I hear. But I rather enjoy watching him squirm."

"So you are flirting with me, just to give him a hard time?"

"Of course. I could never be truly interested in Gil-galad's daughter, my father would come back and haunt me… "

She laughed, though she felt silently disappointed with the fact that he was being serious about not courting her-or so she thought.

"If I may ask, why did your father so thoroughly dislike mine?"

"You may indeed…" And so the son of Oropher proceeded to tell the daughter of Gil-galad of the root of their fathers' discord-the differences between the Noldor and the Sindar peoples that sprang from the kinslaying and Oropher's stubborness to forgive, and then he spoke of the Sylvan people and their simplicity and love for the Wood over politics. And the two, engrossed in such conversation, made their way together to the chambers of the queen mother.

By the end of their exchange, Gíl-wen had quite another opinion of the stupid, foolish king.

* * *


	7. A Confrontation-Part Two

Erestor glared at the creature before him. Two little beady eyes gazed up at him defiantly, from over a half-eaten carrot.

"Stupid, foolish rabbit!" cried the angered elf. "Those vegetables were not for your consumption! Now the cook is mad at me, AT ME, Finwë, and I had nothing to do with it."

Finwë twitched his little rabbit nose then munched the carrot a bit, before turning around, hopping back in the direction of the kitchens. An exasperated Erestor bounded after him: "Oh NO, you don't!" He roared.

The rabbit, hearing the tone in Erestor's voice, dashed at the last minute down a corridor to the right of the kitchens to escape his livid pursuer. Erestor skidded to halt and changed his course as well to follow the nuisance of an animal.

"I am going to catch you and turn you into a stew. Then you can permanently have all the vegetables you want!"

Finwë fled in terror, knocking over a vase in the process, scampering to the freedom of the outdoors. Erestor jumped over the vase without bothering to pick it up, as he would have been wont to do if he were less furious at the animal for disrupting normal household patterns. While Erestor did not object usually to Gíl-wen's pet, it seemed that with the arrival of spring and the King of the Greenwood, the rabbit was constantly getting in his way–muddying already polished floors, knocking over priceless pieces of furniture, nibbling at random clothes and robes in the washing. Gíl-wen did nothing to admonish the creature's new-found excitable, bad attitude, but rather encourage it and would laughed at both the small mammal and the hapless librarian-housekeeper. Glorfindel and the princess, since the incident of the gown in the Hall of Fire, could be randomly seen throughout the day, letting the rabbit loose on an unsuspecting Erestor and his various projects. More often than not, the result of such an unleashing was chaos. Today, the fluffy pet had gotten into fresh vegetables which were to be prepared for the king's dinner. The frustrated cook had spent a good thirty minutes complaining to the head housekeeper, and Erestor had resolved to find the offending beast and put a stop to its marauding ways once and for all. The dark-haired elf followed the fleeing fluff-ball to the sunny open air, out into the flowery meadows of the valley.

"Ah-ha!" He cried, scooping the suddenly halted bunny up into his arms. "I got you!" He looked up from his bent over position to find himself face to face with the woodland elk.

The beast eyed him curiously, with a look eerily reminiscent of the Elven King's. "Not you too, you great brute," Erestor said, more than a little nettled. The moose snorted defiantly, and a blonde head appeared around his great shoulders.

"Something wrong?" asked a curious Galion.

Usually Erestor was a kind  _ellon_  who understood the constraints of hospitality and the politics of obliging a visiting kingdom, but these foolish animals had tested the limits of his patience. Aglar, the king's rather over-sized mount, had taken to eating random flowers in carefully sculpted flower beds and drinking from some of the nicely constructed fountains throughout the gardens. He had had to be led out of the main gardens several times, and Erestor wonder if the woodland elves were capable of guarding anything at all, judging the number of times the brute had "escaped". " _'Let loose'_  is more like it…" Erestor thought to himself. Now, faced with the animal and the king's butler, not to mention the exasperating events of the preceding days, Erestor laid aside any politeness he would have assumed under usual circumstances.

"You keep your big brute there under control!" He jabbed a finger at the transgressing moose and tucked Finwë farther under his arm, as if to shield the rabbit from any further bad influences.

Galion, in a characteristic streak of his usual goading, sought to rile the already hysterical housekeeper. "He is not a brute! Such a gentle creature… " He retorted, petting the elk's velvet nose.

"Gentle?!" cried an incredulous Erestor. "He eats the garden flowers and creates nasty messes in the middle of the pathways that MY elves have to clean up!"

"Oh, does he?" Galion cocked his head to look at Erestor and his furry bundle. "How curious. He never does such things in the Greenwood. Must be this confounded valley." He turned to pet the elk again and spoke in a soft, comforting, rather exaggerated, voice. "I do not know what this silly elf is speaking about, Aglar; you are quite a good moose, are you not?"

"Good moose?!" Erestor spluttered. "Come, Finwë, we should not consort with such a creature. You are infinitely better than he."

And with his stupid, foolish rabbit tucked under one arm, he turned on his heel and headed towards the Last Homely House, head held high.

When he was out of sight, Galion's merry laughter filled the flowery meadow.


	8. A Confrontation-Part Three

"He is just a friend, Glorfindel!" For the thousandth time, Gíl-wen endeavored to reassure her beloved that Thranduil's advances were nothing serious and merely the actions of one who enjoyed antagonizing others.

While she and the Elven King had certainly spent a few hours in each others company over the past few days, engaged in stimulating conversations during pleasant strolls through the halls of Imladris, for Gíl-wen had kindly offered to show him around, they had not progressed in their friendship beyond the already established endearments. To Gíl-wen's disappointment, there had been no moonlit strolls in the garden and the handsome elf kept his physical distance. There had not been another kiss on the hand that sparked a fire within her. There had merely been a strong friendship kindled between the Sindarin king and the Noldor princess.

"Have you not seen the way he looks at you when you are not looking, Gíl?" replied a rather jealous Glorfindel. He had noted the Thranduil assessing his intended's looks at the farewell feast the evening before and had not approved.  _"Stupid, foolish me,"_  he thought to himself,  _"I should have accompanied her into help the queen and not left her out of my sight this past week."_

"He is welcome to look," Gíl-wen answered. She was put out by his possessiveness, and secretly smug that the Elven King's eyes had wandered her direction at the feast. During a certain conversation of theirs on one of their walks, Thranduil had mentioned that he would not have fought over anything as silly as jewels, even if they bore the light of the Trees, unless perhaps that jewel were a perfectly polished emerald. He had a fondness for emeralds, he had said, perhaps it was because they reminded him of the greenleaves in the summer. Gíl-wen had laughed at that statement, but that evening had worn a pearl white gown bedecked with green and silver stitching and ornamented with tiny emeralds. She had also consciously donned her mithril and emerald necklace to compliment her outfit. She had noticed his gaze, but, not wanting to upset Glorfindel, ignored it. "Surely, you cannot be offended that others notice my beauty?"

Glorfindel was stumped by her retort. He wanted all to notice his love's beauty, and at the same time he wanted to keep her all to himself. He chose the wiser reply. "Nay,  _meleth_." He said earnestly, crossing the room and taking her hands in his. "Your beauty should be shared with the world; and I suppose I should be proud that a King assessed the  _elleth_  on MY arm."

"You should, my fierce balrog slayer. For I am yours, and not his, even though he is a king and you are but a mere captain." Gíl-wen strove to boost her beloved's ego.

She found herself caught between a flirtatious, handsome Elven King, to whom she was inexplicably drawn, and her current suitor, who treated her as if she were one of the Valar. Glorfindel was sweet and caring; but Thranduil– Thranduil was intellectually stimulating and intriguing, and from her observations of his interactions with his mother, quite a compassionate, loving elf. She did not seriously consider him a possible suitor, but she could dream. For now, she was content with Glorfindel's attentions and did not want to do anything to upset their courtship.

"A mere captain,  _meleth nin_? You would settle for a mere captain?" His warm, gentle voice broke through her thoughts as he pulled her from her chair, wrapping his arms about her. She responded in kind, nestling into his embrace and he kissed the top of her raven head.

"Of course," she murmured. "Especially when he is so snuggly."

"Ah, you may snuggle in my arms whenever you want,  _meleth_."

She cocked an eye at him. "It does not detracted from your hardened warrior image?" she asked impishly.

"No one need ever know…" he replied in all seriousness.

"You would not cuddle with me in front of your guards!?" came her skeptical, playful retort.

"I would cuddle with you in front of the whole world,  _meleth_ , especially a certain Elven King and his whole kingdom."

She laughed softly. "You are silly, Fin." Then, she melted back into his embrace.

"I find myself utterly giddy when in your presence,  _hiril vuin_ , (beloved lady)." And he bestowed another kiss atop her head.

For the next few minutes the couple stood in such a loving embrace until they broke apart to walk hand-in-hand down to the gardens that were lit with rays of the silver moon and the twinkling of the stars. They walked in amicable silence, happy to be in each other's company, after days of being kept apart by their duties to the visiting elves.

" _Stupid, foolish me_ ," thought Glorfindel again, as he walked the moonlit paths of Imladris with his beloved princess. " _I have completely given her my heart, and I know not what I shall do if she ever thinks to give hers to another. It is quite a good thing that Sinda has gone from this valley. I shall only pray he does not return this way._ " He paused to tilt Gíl-wen's head towards his own and bestowed upon her a possessive kiss, which she returned eagerly.

She was his and he was hers. And all was right in his world.


	9. Thoughts on the Road

The journey to the havens was rather uneventful. For the elves of the Greenwood, used to the denseness of their forest home, the region of Eriador was a wonder to behold. Vast open plains of gently rolling hills stretched to meet the low peaks of the Blue Mountains. The Sylvan elves who journeyed with their King gazed about in wonder as they travelled westward. None of the company had traveled this far west, save the King, the Queen Mother, and Galion. Thranduil himself was eager to see the lands through which he had once traveled in his younger days, though he found himself as of late caught up in thinking of his recent journey to Imladris, rather than reminiscing of the past. He had noticed Gil-galad's daughter from the moment of his arrival, and for some odd, inexplicable reason, he could not shake the thought of her. Few ellyth, let alone ellyn for that matter, could rise to the occasion of challenging the Elven King. She did so; throughout their conversations during the duration of the stay, Gíl-wen constantly challenged the King on everything, allowing for rather heated discussions on topics ranging from history to pipe-weed. In the end, the two elves found that, although they argued heartily, they generally conceded to one another and found that they had similar viewpoints. Gil-wen was capable of holding her own against Thraudil and pushing buttons that normally would have caused him to lose his temper. She was akin to Galion in that regard.

"A penny for your thoughts, sire?" an amused voice came drifting up from beside him. Speaking of Galion…

Thranduil started. He had been so lost in his thoughts he had not noticed that his butler brought his mount up aside him and Aglar.

"Rhaich!" (Curses!) he swore. "My thoughts are my own, butler, and I pay you well enough to listen when I want. You need not ask for pennies." He grumbled moodily.

"It is but an expression, sire!" replied Galion cheerfully. "You look to be drifting off to sleep in aimless thought and I sought to save you before you ended up tangled in Aglar's antlers."

Thranduil thought he heard what suspiciously sounded like a snort of laughter covered quickly by a coughing fit from Maefaron who was the nearest to them. The king turned to level a stare at the captain of his guard, when he caught sight of a faint smile gracing his naneth's face. Instantly he turned the almost-glare into a wink and beaming smile and turned back to address Galion.

"Bah!" He said joking. "I would never do such a thing. I could entertain a whole party of foolish mortal embassaries and be sleeping–they would never suspect a thing. My reputation as a mysterious and haughty Elven King precedes me; I could sit through a whole proceeding with my eyes glazed in sleep and they would never know!"

"Until you fell head first from your throne… " added Galion, cheekily.

"That would never happen. I retain regalness while resting." Thranduil assured him.

"Unless I push you over… "

This time, Thranduil did not hold back his glare, and the queen mother laughed softly at the butler's impertinence.

That night when the party had stopped to rest and nourish themselves, Queen Faeltheliel spoke softly to her son while eating some wild berries and lembas.

"You did seem rather engrossed in your thoughts today, ion nin," she said as he sat down beside her. "Do you care to share them with your mother?"

"Of course, nana vuin," (dear mommy) he kissed her cheek and laid his head on her shoulder as he had done often in his youth, and still did on the rare occasions his kingship allowed him such familial comfort. "I was thinking on the last time that we traveled this land, when Ada was with us. He came this way, that he might save us all from darkness and give us peace," Thranduil sighed, "but the darkness took him anyway."

"His death brought us peace, ion nin," said the queen ruefully. "I suppose that is why I did not fade at this passing. For all of his temper, he was quite a peaceful and loving elf. He prefered the peace of the forest to the politics of fine halls. It is a wonder he even accepted to lead the Sylvan peoples." She laughed softly. "I think they bribed him with wine, is what did it. But any rate, Oropher would have wanted us to continue on merrily in the peace his death had purchased, else to him, his sacrifice would have been in vain." His mother turned and placed a gentle hand on his face. "You are so much like him, you know?" She mused. "So proud, so strong, so stubborn, but gentle too, caring little for pomp and ceremony–though you use it well in your favor. My dear son, how proud your father would be if he could see you today."

Thranduil returned her loving gaze, with one of questioning seriousness. "Do you really think so? At times I feel so… inadequate. I only think that I have last this long because of your constant guidance. I shudder to think of what I shall become when you have departed, Nana. Kingship tires me and makes me grumpy! Or so Galion says."

"You will be fine, Thranduil." She smiled sympathetically at him. "You handle the burdens of the throne well, because you have the good sense to keep your humor amidst everything. And Galion, of course, obliges your amusement. All you have need of is a wife to aid his endeavors and bear you heirs, who will hopefully, what is that expression mortals use, ah yes, turn your hairs grey." She added the last part with a twinkle of mirth and challenge in her blue eyes.

Thranduil rose to the occasion. "Nana! Whatever did I do to you in my youth to merit such censure!" He sat up and looked at her with false incredulous horror, then he lay his head in her lap and gazed up at her, smiling deviously. "I am the best son, Nana!"

"You are my only son, Thran."

"I am the best son," he replied, ignoring her remark. "Handsome, witty, loving, smart, caring… my children will be blessed if they take after me." He listed the aforesaid descriptions on his fingers, counting matter-a-factly.

"You are also stubborn, haughty and a tad excessive, ion nin. Not to mention prone to injury and mischief in your youth." The queen responded playfully.

"Me?! stubborn, haughty, and a tad excessive!" cried Thranduil in kind. "Never!"

"A woodland elk, my son... Need I say more?"

"His name is Aglar, Nana," the king corrected pettishly, and he crossed his arms.

"I rest my case."

Thranduil looked up at his mother with a wounded look of innocence and then laughed together with her, relishing his time with her that would soon be drawing to a close. After their mirth had passed, he brought up the true matter on his mind, asking quietly:

"Do you think I will ever find it, Nana? Love, that is… like you and Adar had. I am well past my majority and the ellyth of the Wood are so young and untainted by shadow; I fear that none of them shall truly understood the complexities of my character, nor deal with my volatile moods that at times get the best of me. I fear I shall have no children to inherit my good qualities."

"Oh, Thranduil!" She replied, gently stroking her son's fair head. "You will find someone, I do believe. It takes time to find one's soul mate and one should not rush these things. But what of that elleth you met in Imladris? Gil-galad's own daughter, was she not?"

Thranduil's eyes closed in contentment at his mother's caresses.

"Hmmmmm, yes. What of her?"

"You found her pleasant, did you not?"

"Hmmmmmm, yes. What of it?"

"Perhaps the interest is mutual?"

"Hmmmmm, perhaps. Though she seemed quite content with her Balrog-slayer. Why she would want a mere Elven King instead, I cannot fathom."

"Perhaps you will journey back through Imladris to find out?"

"Hmmmmm, no. I had intended to visit Celeborn."

"Celeborn is already happily bonded to Galadriel."

Thranduil shot one eye open to see his mother gazing amusedly down at him. "You think I should try to win the Lady Gíl-wen's affection outright?" He opened both eyes incredulously. While he had flirted a good deal with the elleth in question, he had never taken his advances seriously, nor had she, for that matter. But now, come to think of it...

"Something tells me that the lady's heart has not yet been taken. She never once spoke to me of her beloved while I was there, as ellyth who have new-found affection are wont to do, but she did ask about you several times. I can assure you that I doubt her inquires were merely due to the fact that we had someone in common of whom to speak. And you do not attribute all the time she spent with you to the sole reason that she was her cousin's hostess, do you?"

"I did… " Thranduil sat up. "You think she truly is interested in me?"

"Perhaps." The queen responded mysteriously. "It would not hurt to press further. She is a lovely maiden and well-suited to be a queen."

"Hmmmmmmmm," said Thranduil pensively, and he laid back down again in his mother's lap. "Perhaps I should return to Elrond's house… "

The Elven King lay with his head on his mother's lap until his eyes glazed over in sleep. It is said that elves do not sleep as humans do, but rather wander through the paths of waking dreams–Thranduil's dreams were that of a certain elf maid, and a rather epic battle between a great Elf King and mighty Elf Lord for her hand in marriage. In Thranduil's dream, the Elf King slew the Balrog Slayer and won the maiden.


	10. Just a Pinecone

Since the night when Glorfindel had kissed Gíl-wen quite soundly in the moonlit garden shortly after Thranduil's departure, Gíl-wen found her staring at all sorts of gifts and flowers from her lover. It was as if he was trying to prove his love in every poem, jewel and blossom he bestowed. She did not mind; what elleth would mind, really? To be given proof that one is loved is akin to breath. But even though one breathes daily, ones does not necessarily need quotidian proof of affection. Once, maybe two times a week, for sure, but daily?! Gíl-wen was beside herself in exasperation. She appreciated the Balrog Slayer's attention, she really did; however, with each new present, she felt a little more guilty, a little more dependant and a little more like he was somehow trying to buy her love.

How the conversation had come up, she did not know–perhaps during one of the talks on the Simarils and the bride price Thingol asked of Beren–but Thranduil had made it quite clear that the only token of affection one needed to give was one's honest word and deed and that would be enough for him. He told her of a family tradition of his: how that at Yule, since the time of Oropher's coronation, when his family received the wealth of a kingdom, the royal family would exchange homemade presents wrapped in crude paper wrappings. There were to be no elaborate gifts exchanged, nor several for the simple reason that they could afford it. Oropher's reasoning had been that greatest offering of all was the blessing of having one another near, followed closely by the mutual giving of work that had been created by one's own hands. A homemade gift was a gift of self, Thranduil had quoted the words of his father, and even when the elder king passed on, the queen and her son continued the tradition. Thranduil had then gone to explain that should he ever be fortunate enough to have children, he would allow them to marry for love's sake and care little for monetary purposes or foreign alliance. She then proceeded to ask him what he would do if one of his children should fall in love with a mortal, to which he replied confidently:

"Bah! Any child of mine would first befriend a dwarf before bonding to a mortal!" Thranduil had said that….

Thranduil.

The princess had thought about the Elven King since the day he had departed. Again he had found his way back into her thoughts like a familiar song that she had always known, but never knew the words too.

As she pulled the weeds from the bed of roses that grew in her special garden, she pondered why her thoughts returned again and again to the ostentatious guest who had questioned her every assertion, who made her heart flutter when he spoke, and who made her giggle like an elfling at his wit. She shoved her small spade furiously into the ground.

She should be thinking of Glorfindel!

Glorfindel and his slew of presents– trinkets she did not even really need. Thranduil had given her nothing but a small pinecone he had found on one of their walks through the small woods of the valley. It was perfectly shaped, a beautiful light brown with small scales like miniature flower petals. He had picked it up on their stroll and breathed in deeply its woodsy scent. He handed it to her and bid her do the same, describing as she did so the vast forest which was his home. He had spoken with such vividness, pride and imagery that she had imagined herself there and she had not given the small cone back. It graced her bedside table along with Glorfindel's daily dose of wildflowers.

Gíl-wen sighed as she gathered her gardening tools and bucket of weeds to return back indoors to tidy herself for supper.

Why, she wondered, why did she have to think about someone who had no reason to be in her mind, or heart, at all? She had only just met him, the Elven King, and here she was trying to recall his face, his cocky attitude, his deep grey-blue eyes.

She swung her pail back and forth wistfully. She needed to find Elrond. Perhaps he could prescribe a remedy for this strange, new obsession.

"Did you want an indoor garden to sleep in, cousin? You are more than welcome to sleep in the greenhouses," Elrond stated cheekily as he entered Gíl-wen's room and eyed all the vases of flowers therein.

Gíl-wen groaned. "Oh, do stop being such a smarty, Rondy; I did not ask you here to be sassed."

"Then do not use such a foul nickname as…" Elrond shuddered unable to utter her butchering of his name.

"What, Rondy?" She asked mischievously. "I think it suits you."

One black eyebrow raised in disbelief. "I think not, cousin."

Gíl-wen continued to water the pants she had been tending to and replied simply, "Ah, well, I shall just have to ask Celebrian when she returns and she will tell me the truth."

There had already been three kinslayings among the elvish peoples and, in that moment, Elrond meditated the fourth. So he tactfully changed the subject. Gesturing to the flowers, he inquired:

"These are all from Glorfindel, I presume?"

"Oh, yes!" cried his cousin, in an uncharacteristic huff. "They are!"

Elrond bestowed a pitying look towards the elleth and crossed the room to a sea, motioning for her to join her. "Come, penneth, (little one) talk with me."

She moved moodily over to occupy the seat beside him and sighed softly as she sat. The peredhrel placed a loving arm around her shoulder and pulled her close and for a few moments the two elven cousins enjoyed the familial comfort.

Elrond looked down when he heard a sniffle. Gíl-wen was crying.

Gíl-wen was crying?!

He titled her head gingerly towards him to better wipe the tears of her cheeks. "Man prestad cin? (What troubles you)?" He asked gently.

She gazed up at him sorrowfully. "U-istin…(I don't know)"

She was frustrated– mainly at herself that Glorfindel was so kind, so endearing and still her heart felt nothing, while she constantly thought of another ellon whom she had only just met. Yet she could not truly phrase her thoughts coherently. She was at that stage where confusion has set in, and obscures right judgement for the matter.

"I suppose," she began by way of explanation, "I suppose I am upset because of all this…" she gestured helplessly around the room. "Glorfindel is so sweet and these are all presents from him, but what am I to do, Elrond? I did nothing to deserve them! I mean, I know he loves me, but does he need to shower me in presents?!"

An ever insightful Elrond listened to his cousin's brief rant, and delved deeper to help her find the true reason for her frustration. "It is not the presents, truly is it? There is something else at play here other than my captain's rather obvious attention to you. What is it?"

She looked up at him curiously. "Nothing passes your notice, does it?"

With another small sigh, Gíl-wen cast her gaze downward, picking at the edges of her sleeves and continued: "I suppose I am upset because I am thinking of another when I should be thinking of Glorfindel, and I cannot explain it. I SHOULD be grateful to Glorfindel for these things and fall hopelessly in love with him and bond with him and bear his elflings… but I just… can't. Ai! What is wrong with me, Rondy? Why do I think of another who is gone and likely not to return, and not of one who is ever present both in body and in the many gifts he showers?" She ceased her sleeve picking and turned to her cousin with a sorrowful look and yet another sigh.

Elrond reached out again to pull her close and kissed the top of her head that she then lay on his shoulder.

"First of all," he began, "You called me…" he could not bear to utter his butchered name, but instead shuddered. Gíl-wen snickered at his reaction. "As for the matter with Glorfindel, speak to him of the matter with the presents. Seriously speak. Let him know that you need not so many tokens of his affection. Perhaps if he desists his over-bearing courtship and gives you space to forget him for a time, you will forget him a little and thus remember him more."

Gíl-wen laughed softly through her sadness. "Perhaps…" She then shook away her melancholia and moved from her cousin's side, eying him with a twinkle of humor. "You speak in riddles, did you know that, Rondy?"

Playfully he rolled his eyes. "Will you cease and desist with that hideous nickname?! I give you wonderful straightforward advice and you call me thus? Ungrateful child!"

"Oh, Rondy, I think it suits you…."

"I think not… this family session is now over," he said testily, moving to exit the room.

"I am most certain Ada would have loved it and addressed you thus in court…"

He turned a spiteful glare at her from over his shoulder.

"I hardly think so…"

She laughed merrily, her troubles forgotten for now, and crossed the room to embrace him in a hug. He moved to return it. " You know I am merely jesting, cousin?" she murmured into his shoulder.

He chuckled a little. "Of course, gur mel. (dear heart)"

As they stood thus, he noticed over her shoulder a small pinecone on her bedside table. Curiosity got the better of him, and he asked: "Glorfindel has taken even to getting you pinecones, has he?'

Gíl-wen turned her head to view the object of which he spoke. Still unwilling to acknowledge her true feelings for the Elven King, she brushed the question aside as irrelevant. "Ah, no. It's just a pinecone that I found and liked. Nothing more."

Elrond nodded in silent agreement, while in his head he muttered: "We shall see… "


	11. An Unexpected Visitor-Again

"Lord Elrond!" a breathless Erestor came running up the front steps of Imladris. "My lord… AIGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

There was a small high pitched squeal followed by a quick pattering of feet, a large THUD! and Erestor found himself staring at the high ceiling of the entrance way, seeing more than just the painted stars of Elbereth.

"CURSE YOU, FINWË! CURSE YOU!" and the poor elf began to sob, rubbing his head and sitting up.

"Exactly why are you cursing my great grandfather, Res?" came a sweet, innocent voice from around the corner. Gíl-wen appeared in his view, offering a helping hand to the collapsed elf.

He swatted her hand away. "Oh go away, Lady Gíl-wen! It is because of your accursed rabbit that I am in this mess altogether. That, and King Thranduil's atrocious moose…"

"But Res, if you spent quality time with Finwë, you two perhaps would get along better and he would know not to trip you… but what's this about Aglar? The king left a week ago and he is going through Lorien on his return."

"That's just it," replied Erestor standing up again, and this time rubbing his backside. "A guard at the border just returned and said they spotted a contingent of elves headed this way. It seems to be that the party is led by a giant elk. So I assume it is the king, though I too thought he was returning by way of Lórien. Blasted wood elves! I will have to prepare rooms, alert the kitchens, tell Elrond, find a suitable place for Aglar…"

Gíl-wen had stopped listening to Erestor when he said the word "king".

Why on earth had Thranduil come back this way? He said he was going to Lothlórien. Did someone, somehow get injured? Her mind ran through several possibilities as Erestor listed off the things he had to do.

She was suddenly very aware of her appearance and wondered if her golden dress covered in blooming flowers was dry– it was currently hanging on the line. Thranduil had told her that it made her shine like the sun when he saw her in it, teasing her, of course, but he had added in all seriousness after they had both had a laugh that it was her beauty that made it shine brighter– the little flirt. Wear it and surprise him, said a small voice inside her head, and Gíl-wen turned to leave to fetch the gown, and re-braid her hair.

"My lady?"

"Ah, Erestor, did you need something?"

Erestor sighed deeply and shook his head. "You weren't listening, were you, my lady?"

"Sorry, Res, I was just thinking that if the king is coming, I should try to look the best for him, don't you think?"

Erestor looked at her with an expression of surprise and asked: "Who is this elleth standing before me? Certainly not the same one who wore servant's clothes to the first greeting? What have you done with the Lady Gíl-wen? ."

"Really, Res, first you are horrified because I wear a servant's garb, and now you are horrified that I should like to change; whatever shall we do with you, librarian?" She patted him endearingly on the head, before striding in the direction of her chambers.

When Erestor had recovered enough from her rather unique gesture, he try to call out to her, but she had already rounded the corner. During his ramblings, he had asked her to help him organize the house for the king's arrival, which she normally attended to with great delight and would rather mop floors with the staff than do her hair. Here she was now completely caught up in her appearance like all the rest of the silly ellyth that inhabited the valley. She had completely ignored his plight and then had not even given him time to re-state his plea for assistance.

Was this another one of her practical jokes? Perhaps he should go find Glorfindel; maybe he could reason with Gíl-wen.

But first, first he had to find Elrond…

"Glorfindel!"

"Ah Erestor, what is it my friend?" The captain of the Imladris guard was returning from a rather vigorous sparring session when the head housekeeper found him in one of the many passageways of the Last Homely House.

After having reported to Elrond, given out orders to the staff for rooms to be prepared, gone to the kitchen to insure that several extra servings had been added to the evening meal, spent an hour in the library rearranging a bookshelf Finwë had knocked over, and seeing to some problems that the ellyth in charge of arranging the Great Hall were having, Erestor had set about to finding his golden-haired friend. What a stroke of luck he happened to find him ambling the hall that he had turned into.

"Well, see here," Erestor began. "The thing is: that blasted woodland king is arriving here in a matter of minutes most likely; yes, its only been about two and a half hours since he was sighted; so he should be here soon; I told Gíl-wen and asked her to help me…"

Glorfindel stopped listening to Erestor at the first mention of Thranduil. How could this happen to him? He would have to contrive a way to keep his beloved princess away from that no good, excessive, rude, haughty, annoying, flirtatious, cad of a…

"GLORFINDEL?!"

"Yes, Erestor… " king, with bad hair and an ostentatious pet...

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?!"

"Yes, Erestor… " If he even so much as sniffed in Gíl-wen's direction….

"Oh, drat it all," cried Erestor hopelessly. "Not you too… No one ever listens to me these days…"

"hmmmm, yes, Erestor… "

Erestor had achieved the impossible. In only three hours, he had the whole household ready for the Elven King's arrival–and he did it with Finwë hopping about at his feet–seriously he should ask the cook for some good rabbit recipes–and without the aid of Lady Gil-wen, whose current affliction he still could not understand. At least she looked quite presentable and more like a princess than he had ever seen, he thought as he cast a glance in her direction.

Gíl-wen stood next to her cousin, arrayed in a silk gown of bright yellow. It was embroidered with large summer flowers and gathered underneath the bust with a wide belt of delicate golden lace. Her long hair was not bound as she usually wore it, but casually drawn back in twists that interwove with a gold and mithril circlet. She had intricately placed small rose buds throughout her tresses, and looked every inch the elven princess she was.

How odd, Erestor thought; he had never gotten a straight answer from Glorfindel as to why she cared so much about her appearance suddenly. Perhaps King Thranduil had uttered an unkind remark and she felt self conscious, not wishing to repeat the incident, though knowing Gíl-wen, she would most likely give the Sindarin king his due with her own smug retort. How very odd.

As the housekeeper pondered these things, the Elven King and his escort approached. Erestor thought he saw Galion cast a mischievous glance in his direction, but he blatantly ignored the woodland butler in honor of civil politics.

Elrond stepped forward to greet the King, followed closely by Princess Gíl-wen. After exchanging pleasantries with the peredhrel, Thranduil stepped forward to greet the daughter of Gil-galad.

"Gíl nin, (my star)" he said rather endearingly and kissed her hand.

"Your majesty," she replied graciously.

Erestor could not contain his surprise and gaped openly at the scene before him.

Lady Gíl-wen, the same elleth who put a frog in his tea when she was an elfling and whose dratted rabbit ran rampant in the halls of Elrond's house, with little rebuke from its mistress, was engaged in quite a charming interlude with the Elven King. She was blushing and simpering like any other common elf maid, quite delighted in the king's attention. They moved, arm and arm to the house, talking of this and that, like ancient lovers reunited after centuries of separation, and Erestor wondered for the third time that day if Gíl-wen was not somehow planning a practical joke for the evening.

He spared a glance at Glorfindel, who, as captain of the warriors, had to remain at his post of honor. His friend's fists were clenched tight and, though he tried hard to conceal it, his face spoke of pure rage. It was rather horrible joke to play on her beloved, Erestor thought, though she played the part quite well. Erestor sent up a prayer to any Valar listening that Glorfindel would see some humor in it and an international incident could be avoid. If he could have heard the Balrog Slayer's own thoughts at that moment, he would have discovered that another prayer had been sent up asking for the strength to avoid said incident while silently disposing of a certain Sindarin elf.


	12. A Rather Egregious Evening

To say that the dinner that night was a rather sober affair would be quite an untruth, Galion concluded to himself as he sat on the boughs of an elm tree in the meadows of Imladris, watching over a sleeping Aglar. He found himself replaying that evening's proceedings in the Hall of Fire.

Gíl-wen had arrived in all her lady-like splendor on the arm of a rather beaming Elven King. Galion agreed that he had never seen Thranduil smile as such while in a public setting, let alone another realm–he was positively beside himself with joy.

But it was rather short lived, much to the butler's rather amused chagrin.

The golden-haired Balrog Slayer, upon noticing the entrance of the king and princess, had immediately crossed the hall, intent on freeing his beloved from Thranduil's arm.

Apparently he arrived to the "rescue" at quite a hysterical stage in the conversation, as Gíl-wen was animatedly describing an incident, with very vivid facial expressions and wide motions, and the king was laughing uproariously. Gíl-wen swept her hand in a gesture of magnanimous pompousness with a look of haughtiness upon her face, which resulted in her swatting the approaching Glorfindel on the arm. Thranduil laughed harder at such an occurrence, while Glorfindel spared a special glare for the Elven King and smiled tensely at the princess.

Gíl-wen smiled apologetically back at the Noldor lord, and placed a calming hand on his cheek as if to reassure him that everything would be alright, while Thranduil greeted the captain of the Elrond's guard.

Galion could not hear what was being said during the exchange, but the princess' immediate glare in the king's direction indicated that his salutation had not been considerate.

Before she could move to segregate the opposing ellyn, Thranduil and Glorfindel were locked in a face-to-face staredown, while quietly exchanging insults. Galion chuckled to himself to see the much-anticipated face-off...

Gíl-wen had a pained expression on her face, trying to get a word in edgewise, while both gentle-elves purposefully ignored the maiden.

Then it happened...

"MY FATHER WAS NOT A GOOD FOR NOTHING KING, YOU POMPOUS NOLDO!"

Galion shook his head helplessly as he moved to cross the room to restrain his king and friend if need arose. You could throw a slew of insults at Thranduil any day and he would not rise to defend himself, but insult his father and your life was basically forfeit. Glorfindel foolishly stood his ground.

"He cared little for the opinions of others and led your people to their deaths; do not tell me those were the actions of a good king… "

Gíl-wen, at this point, had stepped back to observe the king's defense of his father's actions.

"His people backed him up on his decision to attack; and they did not die in vain. They greatly reduced the numbers of the first assault." Thranduil spit out bitterly.

"They still died, because of the decision of your thoughtless, uncaring father, who obviously disregarded the feelings of others. A trait he did not fail to pass on to you."

Thranduil's eyes flashed angrily as his fists clenched in anticipation. Galion had reached his side at this point, and, leveling an evil glare at Glorfindel, attempted to place a hand upon his monarch's arm, which was abruptly shrugged away.

"I care more for the feelings of others than you can even imagine, Balrog Slayer, and so did my father. You are just jealous because you cannot even begin to compete with our attentions." This was quite true of Glorfindel, of course, but his jealousy and possessiveness got the better of him and he replied tartly.

"Lady Gíl-wen is courting me. She is not yours to consort with."

Then the lady in question joined the fray. "You are BOTH being uncivil and foolish." She admonished. "I am no one's possession, and you," she added furiously to her lover, "you are cruel indeed to use Thran's father to provoke him so!"

Galion noticed that his king look secretly smug at the defense but quickly glared back at Glorfindel.

The Balrog Slayer, hurting as he was by his love's obvious attraction to the Elven King, responded negatively to her intervention.

"Oh, and you call him 'Thran' now, do you? Really, Gíl, how long have you known him? Secret walks in the moonlight don't count... and he is the son of the upstart who refused to follow your father. Gil-galad would be ashamed!" A resounding SLAP was heard throughout the hall as Gíl-wen brought her hand up to instill some sense into the insane captain.

Before anyone could respond, an hysterical Erestor came running into the room chasing a rather frantic Finwë.

"SOMEONE STOP THAT CONFOUNDED RABBIT!"

The bunny saw a way out and hopped up onto a chair and then onto the long table covered in the feast of the evening, scampering through the festive dishes, evading the grasps of the elves within reach and upturning pots and platters in the meantime.

Galion tried unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter as he watched the scene unfold.

Gíl-wen had moved to remove her rabbit from the mess he created, the ellyn's quarrel forgotten for the moment. "What on earth are you up to, Finwë?" she questioned playfully, brushing the bits of food from his fur. She turned to meet an enraged Erestor.

"That rabbit," the housekeeper fumed, "that rabbit has just swallowed one of Lord Elrond's priceless gems! I am sure of it! I found him among Elrond's upturned dressers, and this belt," he thrust said belt forward. "on which he had been chewing, is missing a jewel. I move for immediate dissection of the...creature... to reclaim it!"

Galion watched an amused Elrond move forward to intervene at this point. Funny, thought the woodland butler, how he had not made to do so during his captain's confrontation of the Elven King. Perhaps it was because this was an encounter that needed to occur. The Lord of Imladris took the belt from Erestor and examined it shortly.

"Do not worry, librarian," he chuckled softly. "Finwë could not have eaten the jewel. It was already lost." He then turned to the two ellyn who had seemed to calm during the boisterous interlude. "Gentlemen, perhaps we should retire to the table and eat what this mischievous rabbit has left for our consumption." And he led the way to the table, Gíl-wen taking his arm to follow, while consoling her frightened pet in one arm.

The King and the Slayer glared at each other one last time and joined the rest for supper, while Galion lifted his eyes to the Valar in thanksgiving that a larger crisis had been prevented.

"I know you are there, Gal; come join me."

Thranduil's voice floated up through the branches and Galion swiftly jumped down from his perch. He landed gracefully on his feet to see Elven King lying on his back gazing up at the stars, his head gently resting on Aglar's great side.

"Suilad, (hello) sire," Galion cheerfully greeted. "How was the rest of your evening?"

Thranduil squeezed his eyes tight and grimaced. "Not at all delightful. The Lady Gíl-wen would avoided my company for the remainder of the evening and excused herself early from the feast. She even refused the company of that... Noldor pig of a Balrog Slayer... and left me to discuss dry politics with the peredhel."

"How delightful!" said Galion gleefully, to which retort Thranduil leveled a glare at him. But then the butler sobered and sat beside his king on the grass. "Are you still going to press your suit, sire, in spite of all?"

Thranduil gazed curiously up at the stars and answered him: "In light of what has occurred, I think not. While there is undoubtedly a friendship between us, and while I do honestly love to rile the Noldor captain, he is a good ellon nevertheless. He truly loves her: it is my mere presence that has caused such jealousy. I think had our positions been reversed, I would act in a similar fashion. I was thinking of pursuing Gil, but given what happened, I think I should leave well alone. No doubt the two of them are making up currently... Rhaich," Thranduil swore softly. "I came too late. I suppose I shall have to eagerly start courting the Sylvan maidens when we return."

Galion frowned slightly. He liked the Lady Gíl-wen and the chemistry between her and his friend. She would make a lovely queen, and an even lovelier wife and mother.

She tempered Thranduil in a way that Faelethiel had, and she was prepared by her position as a princess to shoulder the burdens of queenship.

"Giving up so easily, sire?" he questioned, striving to change his king's mind. "This is uncharacteristic of you."

Thranduil laughed softly at the comment. "This is the first time I have even tried to court a lady, Gal, obviously I have chosen poorly."

"You have merely chosen one who has another contending for her affections, Thran. You are the Elven King! Surely, you can win her heart over a mere captain."

Thranduil regarded his friend seriously. "But that is precisely it, Gal, I do not wish to win her heart because of the merits of my title… " He huffed in frustration. "Not that it would be any different with any of the Greenwood maidens. I think I shall just be a bachelor for eternity." He patted Aglar's hide gently. "Aglar and I forever... two lonesome creatures and a lonely throne… "

"You have me, sire," responded Galion sweetly.

"Don't remind me… "

The butler chuckled merrily. "Well, if you do not intend to fight for the maiden, and if you are so averse to my company, then you shall have to content yourself with Aglar's. Perhaps if things get quite desperate, you can have elk-lings."

Thranduil looked at his companion as if he had lost his mind, then resumed his quiet observation of the stars. Galion did not press his king into further conversation and each was left to their own thoughts.

Thranduil thought of a certain elf maid and the current predicament in which he found himself. He wanted to court the lady, he really did. He had greatly anticipated his return to Imladris and enjoyed a lively afternoon with her in animated discussions, yet he found himself now wanting to bow quietly from the scene. She had never quite acknowledged his advances–one could not count playful flirting–and she was still in a relationship with the Balrog Slayer. Glorfindel obviously loved her and he could offer her a quiet life without the added duties and worries of a kingdom. Thranduil could not do so. To become his wife meant becoming a queen and with such a title came great responsibility. Not to mention, Thranduil was unsure of whether he truly love her. He was intrigued, for sure, but love–did he really feel so strongly for someone he had just met? She was novel and excited him, but, given time, perhaps that fire would die. He would return to the Greenwood on the morrow and give himself time to sort out his feelings. If they were true, then he would return and try actively to win her heart. But, if they were not, then he would choose a silly Sylvan elleth–those were not found wanting. Perhaps he could still journey to Lórien as he intended, since there was nothing else to be done here.

And with those thoughts, sleep found the Elven King.


End file.
